


Life, and Things of That Nature

by eliddell



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)
Genre: Conversations, Gen, Hospitalization, Life as a Turk, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29597142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliddell/pseuds/eliddell
Summary: Veld is a captive audience when Vincent decides he wants a talk.  (Part of theBlood of Heaven and Earthuniverse.)
Relationships: Background established relationships - Relationship, Vincent Valentine & Veld
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	Life, and Things of That Nature

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you will probably be wondering why I noted that this was related to _Blood of Heaven and Earth_ but didn't add it to the series. The truth is, this ficlet takes places after the still-untitled major sequel 'fic, which I haven't posted yet (I'm currently working on Ch. 63 of a projected 67 or 68, so maybe, um, another couple of months?). However, it doesn't require any real knowledge of that 'fic and doesn't spoil it significantly (it doesn't really matter how or why Veld got himself shot), I figured I'd post it now to prove that I'm still alive. I'll add it to the series once the longer 'fic gets posted.
> 
> This was also written over a period of less than 24 hours, so it's likely not my greatest prose ever.
> 
> Anyway, I have no idea why Veld wanted to talk to me, but ignoring a determined Turk is a good way to get oneself shot (or electrocuted, chopped to pieces, etc.), so I figured I'd better just roll with it.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy VII belongs to Square-Enix or whatever they're calling themselves these days, not to me. The specific text of this fanfic falls under the CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 license to the extent that this does not infringe on Square's rights.

They'd put me in the room whose ceiling contained a single water-stained tile, two down and four across from the corner nearest the door. At least that gave me a target to stare at that wasn't a light fixture. I'd seen enough Shinra hospital light fixtures in my forty-four years to last me a damned lifetime. I couldn't even remember how many times I'd been shot on the job. Or knifed. Broken bones, fires, explosions, monster bites . . . well, okay, I did remember all the monster bites. Turks dealt more with humans than monsters, so monster bites weren't something I suffered often. That was SOLDIER territory. 

I probably shouldn't have let myself think about old injuries, because the stump of my lost arm was starting to throb in time with the new hole in my leg. Both supposedly healed, but the nerves remembered, and wanted to avenge the insult. Except that there was nothing for them to attack but, well, _me_. That was another thing that was all too familiar. 

"I can't let you out of my sight for a minute." Low, rough, familiar voice, and I turned my head toward the open door. Vincent almost filled it from top to bottom, although not from side to side. 

"Apparently not," I admitted, watching as he stalked forward into the room, moving with that weird weightlessness that somehow kept the sabatons strapped over his boots from clicking against the floor. He stopped beside the bed, but didn't sit down. Instead, he reached for the tag that dangled from the IV that was feeding into my one good arm. Vincent's eyes narrowed as he read the label. 

"X-238-C5. You're letting the Science Department stuff you full of experimental chemicals? Why, Veld?" 

"This one isn't so experimental. Look, _sit down_ if you want to talk. You're too damned tall, and I hate it when you loom that way." I was stalling. Vincent knew it too, but he sighed and took the chair beside my bed. "The stuff in the IV was considered for inclusion in the SOLDIER program early on, but they decided that the effect was so insignificant for an enhanced person that it wasn't worth it." 

"What is the effect?" Oh, I knew that expression of his, the slight narrowing of the eyes and the way the chin rose just a hair. Vincent was trying to decide whether or not to chew me out, and would probably do so whether I explained things or not. 

"It boosts reflexes. Hopefully, it should get me back to where I was when I was Tseng's age." 

Vincent's eyes narrowed a little more, and his mouth flattened into a hard line. _Oh, great, here it comes._ "I may not be a scientist, but they've talked often enough in my hearing to allow me to guess at some of the side effects. _That_ is going to shave five or ten years off your lifespan, isn't it?" He pointed accusingly at the dangling bag of cloudy-orange liquid. 

I glared right back at him. "Yes, I might die at eighty instead of ninety because of it. Which doesn't matter if I get shot in the head at forty-five because I'm getting _too damned slow_. I'm not worried about sunset years that aren't going to happen. You know as well as I do that we're not supposed to live to retire, and even if I walked away from Shinra this instant, I've got too many enemies to survive for long. I'm _happy_ to trade another ten years as a Turk for ten hypothetical years I'd end up spending sitting on my hands in a nursing home with my brains rotting out! Of course, that isn't something _you_ have to worry about. Not anymore." 

My former partner's expression went absolutely cold, the familiar little tells all vanishing, and I realized I'd just pushed things a bit too far. "No, instead I'm going to have to deal with everyone I know dying before me, until all that's left is myself and Sephiroth . . . and Genesis Rhapsodos, who is not exactly someone I would have chosen to spend eternity with. Nearly everyone I knew before Hojo got his hands on me is gone already, dead or vanished . . . or worse than dead. You're the only one still left that I share my early years at Shinra with." 

I took a deep breath, tried to push the ugly jealousy back down. Especially since it was _stupid_. Vincent had endured much more in the process of gaining his enhancements than just having to spend an extra night under observation in an infirmary room to make sure that a bag of cloudy orange goop didn't come with unexpected side effects. Nor had he chosen any of it. "And you still wouldn't trade places with me, would you?" 

A quick headshake. "I don't care for my own sake, but Sephiroth has been through enough in his life already. He doesn't deserve to have to face eternity alone." 

"With Genesis," I corrected, and was rewarded by a tiny upwards flicker of the corner of Vincent's mouth. 

"I'm not sure that Gaia would survive that. Not for more than a couple of centuries, anyway." 

He was probably right. Genesis had matured in the time that had passed since his defection in Wutai, but he was still . . . touchy. And Sephiroth had been taught from infancy to keep his emotions locked down and had a hard time understanding when other people couldn't or wouldn't. Sooner or later, that combination had to set off fireworks. 

"Anyway," I said, "I've already been tag-teamed about this—" I waved my prosthetic hand in the general direction of the IV. "—by all the senior Turks except you. Even Rude weighed in, and you know how much of a talker he isn't." Implied was, _They didn't change my mind. Do you think you can?_

"What about Felicia?" 

"I didn't tell her," I admitted. "But I think she'd understand. It isn't that different from the situation she was in as Elfe. I want to live long enough to see her married, even if it is to that punk Shears. I want to hold my first grandchild in my arms. I won't have that if I can't dodge fast enough the next time someone tries to assassinate the Board of Directors." 

Vincent's expression was unamused. "I would say that you won't have that if you have an allergic reaction to that glop, either, but I expect someone would have noticed by now if there was a problem." 

"The risk isn't the only thing that's bothering you about this," I said, and the tension in his jaw proved me right. "Come on, Vin. Spill." 

Vincent gave me a long stare. Ordering his thoughts, or maybe just stalling. Either way, it was nothing he hadn't done before, and I waited him out. 

"I didn't give up my humanity by choice," he said, slowly, at last. "Not originally. I've learned to accept what I now am, but it was . . . a long and winding path to follow. Did you know that when they found me in Nibelheim, Sephiroth had to literally drag me outside? I was afraid that I was going to transform without warning in a populated area and end up slaughtering everyone in sight. I only went with them because he _was_ strong enough to drag me—strong enough to fight me, if it came down to it. But remembering that—remembering the visceral horror I felt the first time I transformed—it feels wrong to let someone else take the first steps along that road. And yet, I understand why you would want to. I understand the need to be strong. And I wouldn't give up what I have, even though the package includes things like Hellmasker. So . . . just very conflicted feelings, with part of my hindbrain screaming at me that you're making a mistake, and the rest of me trying to silence it." He finished with a shrug and a wry half-smile. 

_One IV bag of orange glop and his subconscious thinks I'm going to become a were-coeurl._ It would have been funny if it wouldn't have been a real possibility under the old Science Department. "It's more of a nervous system prosthetic than an enhancement, if that helps. Trust your niece, if you don't trust me." A subtle reminder: _There's no Hojo here._

"If I didn't, I'd already have ripped the damned needle from your arm." I heard the rattle of a PHS on vibrate. Vincent reached into his pocket for it, scowled when he saw the screen, and then his expression smoothed over into his familiar professional mask. "Looks like I have to go. Grand horns around Cosmo Canyon. If I have a chance, maybe I'll take Felicia out for lunch so that we can catch up." 

Which was a threat if I had ever heard one. "You wouldn't." 

"What will you give me not to?" And there was the man who had given me back the bugs from his apartment mixed into a bowl of pistachios, and convinced Garotte, back in the day, to doctor a photo of me to . . . well, never mind that. It was old news. 

"The last bottle of that case of brandy I laid up in '73," I offered. "It's only gotten better with age." 

"When I get back, we can drink it together." He was ghosting out the door before I could figure out whether that was a promise or a threat. Probably both, knowing him. 

I would look forward to it.


End file.
